


in your heart shall burn

by mizael



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Youkai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizael/pseuds/mizael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Akashi Seijuurou is first created—and that’s what deities are, <i>created,</i> not born, like masterpieces of oil and paint and smudged ink on clothes that will never be washed out—he arises from the unfurling petals of a lotus flower with all the grace of ripples on a lake’s surface, and takes his first step into the mortal realm, barefoot, on dry dirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the dragon's crooked spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _in your heart shall burn_   
>  _an unquenchable flame_   
>  _all-consuming, and never satisfied_

When Akashi Seijuurou is first created—and that’s what deities are, _created,_ not born, like masterpieces of oil and paint and smudged ink on clothes that will never be washed out—he arises from the unfurling petals of a lotus flower with all the grace of ripples on a lake’s surface, and takes his first step into the mortal realm, barefoot, on dry dirt. He takes his first breath with the rustling of the wind against the trees, and exhales with the birds that fly away from his disturbance.

When Akashi Seijuurou first opens his eyes, he sees a lush green forest that spreads far and wide, and the nature that welcomes him gently with the soft shining of the sun’s rays. Down the hill and across the river, there lies a splotch of brown and yellow and gray, and figures milling about with farm work and community.

When Akashi Seijuurou is first created, he sets his eyes—red like the sunset, like dying embers, like the inside veins of a lotus bud—on the human village across the way, and knows with all the knowledge of the world that has been given to him, that he will make it _his_.

His village, his people, his shrine.

And with a great gust of wind, the silks on his body flow gracefully behind him, the deity takes his second step into the great human world.

 

 

He learns very quickly that humans are creatures of want.

In his godly form, they cannot see him, but Seijuurou walks among their masses in his first years of life, observing, prodding, and experimenting with the many powers bestowed upon him with his creation. He knows, too, that his reason for being is a result of their want, their wishes. Humans, when they dream, are powerful beings, and Seijuurou had stepped out from their combined consciousness with all the power to grant them.

So, he does, because it is his job and his duty, and his reason for existence. In his first years of life, his infancy, Seijuurou grants them wishes.

The first time he does it, it is for a small village girl with bright pink hair, like the cherry blossoms that bloom every spring and leave their petals on the surface of the lake he resides in. The girl comes with a bundle of white chrysanthemums and tear stained cheeks, and leaves them on the bank. She comes with the belief and imagination of a child, trusting in a presence she has never met before but stubbornly knows.

“Please!” and it is Seijuurou’s first conversation. He observes the girl with her knees in the dirt, uncaring of the patchy old kimono she wears and the gunk she smears on it. “Please help me! My mother is going to die soon. She is so, so sick. Please help me, please let me cure her. She’s the only one I have left.”

Fate is a ratty old thing, as dirty as that girl’s kimono, and it tells him that all humans are meant to die. Whether they embrace death now, or later, has no bearing on the shortness of their lifespan. And this is something Seijuurou has learned, as well. While he will live centuries upon centuries, the girl in front of him would be gone in half of that.

Humans know this better than deities, and it is the first time Seijuurou experiences curiosity. Why delay the inevitable, he reasons. It will come anyway.

But the girl praying to him begs and begs and begs, and Seijuurou hears her. When the sun begins to set on the horizon, the girl picks her kimono from the dirt and brushes off the crushed plants from the fabric of her clothes.

“Please,” she says one last time, and Seijuurou watches her walk down the hill, across the river, and back to the village.

Perhaps it was for the lack of anything else to bide his time—deities need not eat, nor sleep, nor exercise—or perhaps it was the first vestiges of curiosity clinging to his mind, but he follows her down the hill and across the river.

The village is the same as it always is, even after Seijuurou’s one hundred years of life. A child, compared to the rest of the deities that inhabit this earth. But Seijuurou follows the pink haired girl down the main road of the village center, crunching rocks barefoot after her. His silks drag across the ground, but he pays them no heed. They will clean themselves on their own time, as Seijuurou will always revert back to the pristine condition of his creation.

He follows her into a humble home, made of wood planks and a haphazardly built straw roof, with no door but instead an animal hide used to cover the opening. She lets the hide slide shut after her, and Seijuurou merely lets it pass through him as he enters.

The inside is no better than the inside. It is just as small as it looks, and Seijuurou watches mutely as the pink haired girl fetches a bucket of water from the far side of the room and wrings a rag inside to put on the feverish face of her mother.

“Mo… mo…” the old woman gasps, and Momo takes her hand tightly. “Momo…”

“I’m here,” she whispers, as if afraid to speak any louder.

“Momo,” the woman says again, and her voice is weaker. Seijuurou watches in silence for a dying woman holding onto her child. “Momo, I love you.”

“I love you, too, mother,” Momo says, and buries her cheek in the woman’s hand. It is not yet her mother’s time to die, Seijuurou notes, and she would live for another day. Whether she would go beyond that, he doesn’t know.

Instead, he finds himself prickling at a question that has formed at the back of his head, watching as the girl named Momo keeps whispering to her sleeping mother and weeping in the darkness of her home.

What is ‘love’?

He knows it is a feeling of affection, of attention, of absolute devotion. He knows the theory and concept behind love, as all deities should, but he has never experienced it. There is no one around who can see him, after all, or know he is there. All these humans hold are a belief of his existence when they need him most.

Is love the reward all deities strive for within the span of their existence? Is that why it has such a hard imprint on his mind?

Questioning, Seijuurou exits the girl’s house, and walks all the way back to the hill, across the river.

The lake in the center of the forest greets him, but it is lonely.

When the sun rises next, Seijuurou sinks into the deep abyss of the water and lets himself stew there, and for how long, he does not know. In place of the girl’s white chrysanthemums, he has left peaches, the fruit of health and immortality. The girl’s name.

He does not follow her back to her house this time, but there is a current of electricity that sparks through him. He knows it is the girl’s gratitude, her thanks, her _love,_ and Seijuurou, for the first time, feels as if he has been able to live, to breathe, as if he had been invited to a feast and left with no want of more, just the lingering thoughts of wanting it again. Deities live on love, and this is something he learns as well.

When he rises from the water next with this revelation, he finds a small wooden structure at the edge of his lake, situated at the same place of the girl’s chrysanthemums.

His body sings a heavenly song.

It is his first shrine, built by an older Momo. He has spent twenty years brooding underneath the lake’s surface, where time is not an obstacle in the many eons he will live.

Seijuurou finds love in humans, and dines on their gratitude.

 

 

Momo’s descendants all inherit her pink cherry blossom hair, and each of them continue to leave offerings at the small shrine she has built. Seijuurou finds that when food is left out for him, he can touch it, and eat it, and savor it. Sometimes they leave tangerines, or rice, or bread. Sometimes they even leave peaches. Seijuurou sits atop his shrine and eats all of it.

While they cannot see or hear him, they still revere him. Humans are curious things, Seijuurou decides, but he does not protest their attention. Momo’s descendants tend to his small shrine and visit him often. Sometimes they leave after placing their offering down, and other times they dig their knees into the dirt like Momo first did, begging and asking for his assistance.

The second time Seijuurou grants a wish, it is for a boy with sun-kissed skin and pale pink hair, and eyes that are as white as the silks that grace Seijuurou’s body. This one, he knows, is named Momosuke, and he is blind.

“Please, deity of the lake,” he says, because Seijuurou cannot give them his name. What can he say if they will not hear it? “I have brought you offerings every week, and now it is my time to ask for your aid. My best friend, Ao, has made her way towards the mountains in the North. She has told me she will be back within a week, but now it has been a month, and she still has not returned. I worry for her safety, and only ask that you tell me of her fate.”

Seijuurou does not answer, as he never does, but the pink haired boy pleads and pleads and pleads, and Seijuurou hears him.

Even in his two hundred years of existence, Seijuurou has never explored the world beyond the borders of the human village at the bottom of the hill, across the river. He has never had a need to, until now. This time, he grants a wish because of his own curiosity, and follows the blind boy back to the village, like he did with Momo all those years ago.

The boy navigates with a stick, tapping the ends to and fro in his general direction to make sure there is nothing in his path as he walks. Seijuurou follows patiently, until the boy has made it all the way to the other side of the village.

“This is the road to the North,” he says, as if he knows Seijuurou is there. “This is the road that Ao left on. She said it only goes in one direction until it reaches the mountain.”

Those without one sense have a stronger sixth sense, or so the human superstition goes. Seijuurou studies the boy in front of him closely, and then nods once. The boy seems to smile.

“Thank you,” he says, and walks away. The sound of his stick hitting the ground fades into the distance.

Seijuurou easily glides over the road, the bumpy rocks, the piles of debris and dirt in his path. He follows the road as it goes, and takes in the sight of the forests beyond his domain. If he should ever expand—and he will, a voice in his head says—he will need to know what lurks in these forests beyond his border.

There are other deities in the land. One day, he will have to come face to face with them, and how he should treat them would pave the way for future relations. For now, Seijuurou walks on, following the twining dirt road and thinking only of the villager who has been lost in the mountain. _His_ villager, his people.

After all, humans are creatures of time, and in their fleeting moments on the earth they must be cared for. In exchange, they keep Seijuurou’s existence close to them, and pay their respects at his shrine.

It is much like raising an animal, he muses.

When the mountain comes into view, he wastes no time in ascending the path that goes through. A haunting mist begins to follow his steps, and Seijuurou only smiles amusedly as he continues, as if laughing at a child’s antics. Once the mist rolls in, he knows the fate of the girl named Ao before he even has to investigate.

There are other beings besides humans in this world, and besides deities and gods as well. Those _others_ that exist are the in-between, neither human nor deity, but possessing the traits of both. An immortal lifespan, a tendency to never age, and the powers of divinity, but—human in their woes, their sorrows, their emotions, their origin. Seijuurou knows the name of this particular creature even if he has never met one before, as he stops in his ascent, and observes the mountain, and the way it moves, how it _rumbles._

It will be his first experience dealing with a _youkai._

The figure that pushes through the trees is large, but not gigantic. It is deceptively human when it makes itself known, towering over Seijuurou by a couple of heads, probably more. Seijuurou only narrows his eyes at the new addition, and draws his lips into a thin line. He is a deity, and he will not suffer being looked down upon by something as weak and insignificant as a _youkai,_ which he can crush beneath his heel if he so wanted to. As it serves no purpose for him, he does not, and only watches silently as the large man lumbers forward.

His long hair cascades past his shoulders, and ends at his mid-back, creating a flowing river of purple that shrouds his face in shadow, like the dusk and the night sky. He wears a mask on the left side of his head and it is blue, a human-shaped caricature of a face with a long nose: an oni mask, with a crack down the side of one of the eyes. The man is wearing an informal and loose yukata, black fabric with white stripes, and only slowly tilts his head to the side at the sight of Seijuurou, in all his divine grace and white silk, before him.

“You’re not human,” he says simply, almost disappointedly, and sighs. “I’m so hungry, and no humans come by here anymore. Hey, deity-san, won’t you feed me?”

Seijuurou smiles, but it is cold. “Did you eat a human girl a month ago?”

“Hmmm? Oh,” the man purses his lips in thought. “I might have. I eat a lot of humans. Did you know her? She was so small; I didn’t feel full at all afterwards.”

This man is an overgrown child, but Seijuurou sees his overwhelming strength, hidden by the sleeves of his yukata, the lines and hard edges that disappear beneath the fabric. The man—no, _oni_ —wields a giant iron club that is strapped to his back. No small amount of strength could even begin to lug such a heavy weapon: a _kanabou._

Seijuurou reaches into the deepest parts of his essence, the energy that makes him a deity, a living wish created by humans, and flares it. Power rolls off of him in waves, and the man across from him only has a second to register the overwhelming force pressing into him before Seijuurou begins to walk forward.

The purple haired oni immediately lowers his head: placated, tamed, and Seijuurou smiles, again, and shows his teeth.

“Did you eat a human girl a month ago?” Seijuurou asks, again.

Silently, the oni reaches into the folds of his yukata and pulls out a vibrant blue hairpin, made of wood and cheap paint, but topped with a beautiful sapphire that shines when it catches the sun’s light. “Yes,” he says, lowly. “I was gonna sell it to some humans, ‘cause they like shiny things, and then use the money to buy more food.”

Seijuurou holds out his palm, and the hairpin is deposited onto it.

_I only ask that you tell me of her fate._

Seijuurou holds no remorse for a dead human—they are all destined to go, and it doesn’t matter to him, when or where they decide to go—so he pockets the hairpin, the last remnant of a girl named Ao now gone. It is the least he can do for the family that tends to his shrine, and Seijuurou never forgets his debts, never forgets to repay them.

“What is your name?” he asks, instead, when his thoughts have stopped running.

The oni hums, as if in thought. “Murasakibara Atsushi.”

“Murasakibara?” the name rolls in perfect syllables on his tongue, like a child’s nursery rhyme. Seijuurou turns his back to Atsushi, and gestures to the village at the foot of the mountain, across the forest, next to the river. “That is my territory, and my domain. The humans within it are under my protection.”

Atsushi says nothing, but Seijuurou knows the aura of compliance when he feels it. His power is more than enough to keep Atsushi at bay, and they both know that. Rather than disrespect, it is the oni’s way of showing subservience to a deity that is stronger than him: by silence, and by listening.

Seijuurou says nothing of it, in return. It is only natural, after all, for a deity to reign above—for _Seijuurou_ to reign above.

“As punishment for harming a human under my protection, you will now serve under me,” there is no room for protest. Atsushi hums, again, but makes no move to say otherwise, as if he does not care. Seijuurou quirks the side of his lips. “Come.”

He begins his descent from the mountain, and hears Atsushi’s footsteps follow after him all the way back to his shrine near the lake, on the other side of the village, across the river.

Later, Seijuurou would wonder, if pressing Atsushi into his service was the result of his growing ambitions after seeing the mountain and the world yonder, or his loneliness in the midst of humans who could not see nor hear him.

(Of course, he’d console himself later: for conquest.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really wanted to do a youkai au, and so here we are aaaa  
> i havent really written from akashi's pov before so i guess there's a first for everything weeps i'm sorry for any mistakes ;;_;;
> 
> the story is going to be a little weird in terms of how chapters will go  
> the odd numbered chapters (akashi) will be one story, while the even numbered chapters (kuroko) will be another, and they both take place in the same universe but... not the same time


	2. will never straighten into line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _from the Fade i crafted you,_   
>  _and to the Fade you shall return_   
>  _each night in dreams_

Kuroko Tetsuya knows how to kill a god.

And that’s sort of wrong, in itself, besides the obvious fact of murder—gods and deities don’t die the way mortals die: still hearts and open mouths and a last sound trying to escape from a failing, failing body. _Youkai,_ who live in-between, who are eternally in-between, die much the same way. Their immortalities only extend to the pressure of time. In the end, youkai are just mortals with an infinite time limit.

Gods are different. Deities are different. They are not born, they are _created_ —like fleeing wisps of silver smoke, breathing murky incense, creating worlds in the numbness of your mind and cracks may be smoothed or sanded but they will never go away—like dreams. Gods are dreams. There is no plausible way to kill _a dream,_ just like there is no plausible way to kill a god, a deity, a being beyond the realm of mortal comprehension.

But Kuroko Tetsuya knows how to kill a dream.

It’s simple, really, and sad. Simple and sad. All he has to do is—

 

 

_As soon as he becomes an adult, his village, and his mother—oh, she cries, how she cries and cries and cries—gives him a bundle of pearls and a white veil. They drape it over his head, gossamer silk and see-through with snowflakes embroidered near the ends. His mother had tirelessly dyed it herself, too, hours spent in the snow dipping the veil into cobalt blue water until it went from pure white to light blue, like his hair. His mother always loved his hair, told him how much it reminded her of the sky on days where a blizzard was coming._

_“My precious, precious Tetsuya,” she’d say, arms wrapped so tight around him as if he would disappear at any minute. Her skin was cold; her hands were colder. But Kuroko loved the feeling of her icy hands on his head, lulling him to sleep. “You are so, so bright. My beautiful, beautiful son.”_

_Her hands are shaking, now, pulling the veil tight on his head, letting it frame the edges of his face, and they don’t stop to soothe him like she used to do when he was a child. He is two hundred years old, now, and he’s no longer entitled to his mother’s embrace. Her hands linger on his head, his hair, almost like she wants to indulge him one last time before he has to go. He wants her to._

_Instead, she steps back and smiles at him through her tears, the water forming into glittering sapphires and then disappearing beneath the snow. He doesn’t watch them sink._

_“It’s time, now,” another woman comes up, and she is gentle. She takes his mother’s arms and whispers soothing lullabies into her ear. His mother doesn’t stop shaking, or crying, but she doesn’t struggle as they pull her away. She knows as much as he does, that this is not reversible, and it is fate. “Tetsuya.”_

_"Yes,” he says softly, and smiles at the crowd of women standing before him. “It’s time to go.”_

_“We will miss you,” another woman says, and it sounds genuine. Kuroko does not smile for her, but clutches the bag of pearls in his hand tighter._

_The white uchikake hanging off of his shoulders is heavy, and absorbing water from the falling snow around him. It will be hard to move in later, but those are troubles for another time. Dressed in his gossamer veil and white wedding kimono, Kuroko looks like a bride about to be sent off to meet his groom. That comparison is not too far from the truth._

_“Then,” he begins, and there is no hesitation in his bow. As his head dips forward, the veil moves with him, and Kuroko knows that from now on it will never leave his head until the day he dies. “I will be going. Thank you for taking care of me.”_

_“Farewell, Kuroko Tetsuya, farewell,” they echo._

_“Farewell.”_

_He turns his back, and treks alone into the blizzard._

 

 

—forget.

Forget, and the god will die. Forget, and a deity will perish. When one is built of dreams and memories and wishes, the most devastating tactic to kill a god is to forget the dreams and wishes they were created from. Oblivion is the only end they can ever meet.

And that’s all death is, in the end. Everyone who knows, forgets. Maybe his own name will dot a gravestone somewhere, or he will decay to nothingness, alone, but everyone who has ever known him, will forget. The only names passed down in history are the people who were powerful or stupid, or both, and those are the only ones who never die, even if their mortal body may have perished.

That is true immortality.

And Kuroko knows this, because he has watched a god die. Centuries upon centuries of work reduced to rubble in the face of modern technology and comfort. Humans never liked to depend on anyone else but themselves, even if it was from their dreams that gods are born. Now, however, those newly-formed gods die just as quickly. Stillborn, miscarried. In dreams they dance, but in the morning they crumble to dust and even Kuroko himself can no longer remember their names, as fleeting as they are.

Kuroko Tetsuya knows all of this, because he is watch _ing_ a god die: pale skin and stark red hair, flowing white silks that always seem to billow in an invisible wind. Akashi Seijuurou is there some days, and other days he is not. Kuroko almost feels pity in the pit of his stomach, watching the humans that used to flock to Akashi for wishes go away for satellite comfort instead. But he doesn’t, because Akashi Seijuurou hates pity.

“Tetsuya,” the deity says, perfect and calculated, and betraying everything Kuroko thinks in his mind of _dying_ and _oblivion._ “Where are you going?”

Kuroko bows his head, once. His veil slides off his shoulders and onto his chest. It is still as cold as the day he received it, almost a millennia ago. “Into town. Aomine-kun says he is low on sake, and Kise-kun is too busy with a photoshoot this week to go grocery shopping for us. Midorima-kun is too spooked by humans, and Murasakibara-kun is too volatile.”

“Daiki’s sake can wait another week,” Akashi says, dismisses. “You cannot go into town as you are. Humans are wary of those who are unusual.”

Half-red, half-gold eyes slide to his veil. Kuroko feels the sudden urge to clutch it and hold it close to his body. He doesn’t.

“They don’t notice me,” Kuroko replies, evenly. “They never do.”

“It would not be wise,” Akashi continues anyway, like Kuroko had never spoken up. “Next week is the _otsukimi,_ and we will be watching the moon then. Let Ryouta handle the shopping when he has time. He can pick up Daiki’s sake when he does.”

“If we don’t have the supplies, we can’t possibly prepare for the _ostukimi_ on time,” Kuroko tries again, daring to raise his head from its bowed position. But instead of defiance, his voice goes soft, and Kuroko plays his cards carefully. “I would like to watch the moon with everyone without too much hassle. I know this is selfish, but if I go out now, we won’t have to leave the shrine again anytime soon.”

Akashi shows no change in his features or expression, but Kuroko knows how this game goes. He would like to believe he has a rather impressive set of cards in his hands.

“Tetsuya.”

Kuroko walks forward, one step at a time, until he has come to kneel in front of Akashi’s ethereal form. Akashi doesn’t speak for a while, but that is only temporary. It takes less than a second, less than a moment, for Kuroko’s vision to spin as Akashi picks him off the floor like he weighs nothing, like the snowflakes that adorn his veil.

“Akashi-kun—”

“Satsuki will be providing the offerings for this year’s _otsukimi_ ,” Akashi says, smothering Kuroko’s vision with red, red, red, and then gold. White. His hands cup Kuroko’s face, running long fingers across his cheek, and Kuroko—eternally cold, frozen, and with no hint of warmth at all—shivers. It is an odd feeling. He has never felt _cold_ before.

He knows why, though, like everyone else in the shrine does.

If he were delusional, maybe he could see Akashi’s face like it was a decade ago: smiling, content, with two red eyes instead of one stark yellow staring back at him. But Kuroko is not delusional, and they remind him—

_Red, red, red on the floorboards. The color is so stark against the wood. A black yukata that’s ripped with claw marks and a broken mask on the other side of the room when Kuroko comes to check. Midorima says nothing, looking intently at the junction of his feathers as if they are the most interesting thing in the world, and Kise’s tails are still. Too still._

_Aomine is nowhere to be found._

_“Kurokocchi,” the fox greets him, but his smile is strained, and there is no light in his eyes. None. “Kurokocchi, Aominecchi left, and then M—”_

—of his failure.

“Tetsuya,” Akashi whispers this time, and his breath ghosts across Kuroko’s skin, his pores. His lips could kiss him, right now, when they are so, _so_ close. “You do not need to leave the shrine. I already have everything taken care of, you see.”

He doesn't know if Akashi knows, or if Akashi has some semblance of what he's playing and goes along with it without ever asking _what, exactly_ they were playing. Akashi doesn't need to, really, because he always wins, even if he doesn't know the game.

Kuroko has a royal flush and yet, he still folds.

This Akashi—and it is Akashi, no matter if his eyes are red or one of them is yellow or his voice demands rather than requests or how his lips seek not gentle rule but absolute dominance—is still Akashi, the deity of the lake, the god emperor, the granter of wishes. He is still the person who found Kuroko in the blizzard and smiled a knowing smile at his bag of pearls and said: _“Do you wish to wed me, yuki-onna?”_

_“It is not a wish. It is my duty. The law dictates that I marry whoever figures out my true nature first, but I have not yet even made it to the human village.”_

_“Do you not wish to marry a deity, yuki-onna?”_

_“Do you grant wishes?”_

So Kuroko leans forward and kisses him, the deity-groom, and kisses him hard. Akashi’s hands grip his veil, tug him closer, and presses so much of his body against him that Kuroko has to lean backward to accommodate the extra weight. Akashi hooks an arm around his waist and supports him, fingers still tugging at his veil, and Kuroko manages a short gasp as Akashi’s hands press, determined, against the dip of his backside, hands warm and heating.

“You need not leave the shrine,” Akashi says again, this time less of a platitude and more of a demand. “Not right now.”

Dying gods are desperate, and dead gods do not dream. Akashi Seijuurou is none of them, and yet he is both of them. All of them.

Kuroko Tetsuya knows how to kill a god.

“Not right now,” he breathes anyway, a cold hand pressed against the silks of Akashi’s body, and they billow and flow beneath his palms even now. “Not right now.”

Akashi smiles into Kuroko’s lips, and they kiss again. “Not right now,” he echoes, and finds the knot on Kuroko’s obi.

It drops, silently, to the floor.

 

 

Kise comes home later than usual, staggering on his feet, still the epitome of grace and beauty despite the way his cheeks flush and his eyes gloss over. He stumbles onto the porch two shaking steps at a time and collapses on the raised wooden platform, his torso draped over the floorboards and his legs limp against the cobblestone beneath. Kuroko does not move to support him, but Kise never expects him to.

“Welcome back, Kise-kun,” he says instead, sitting on his knees on the porch as if he has been waiting on Kise’s return for a while now. He has. “You are intoxicated.”

“Kurokocchiii,” Kise slurs, and moves just enough to lay his head on Kuroko’s cold lap and bat the edges of his veil like he is a cat. “You know who’s intoxicated? You are. You’re intoxicatiiing~”

“That’s not what intoxicated means,” Kuroko sighs, but runs his hands through Kise’s hair, smoothening the strands that have fallen out of place. “You should go to bed. Akashi-kun doesn’t appreciate loud noise in the night. And tomorrow morning, he wants you to go with Momoi-san out shopping for groceries.”

Kise has let his human guise slip, and a flurry of tails appear from his backside and start waving lazily in circles. Kuroko leans back to avoid getting hit by one of them.

“Kise-kun,” he says, a little more forcefully.

“Kurokocchi,” Kise hums, content to curl up and ‘go to bed’ on Kuroko’s lap. His ears flatten against his head, twitching ever so slightly. “Good night, Kurokocchi. See you tomorrow.”

Kuroko brings a hand up to his mouth, and breathes frost on his skin. When his fingers have turned slightly purple, he relentlessly reaches out towards one of Kise’s nine tails and tugs.

_Hard._

“Ow!” Kise shoots up immediately, tails moving in a frenzy, and the flush on his face quickly disappears. He moves the offended tail into his lap and immediately starts smoothing out the matte there, and the ice that clings to the ends of his fur. Kise tries to breathe hot air on it, tries to press it against his body’s heat to stop the tail from twitching so much. “My tail! My tail! Kurokocchi, that was so mean! You didn’t have to involve my tail into this!”

Foxes are vain creatures. Kuroko only levels Kise with an impassive look.

“My lap is not a bed, or a pillow,” he says, leaning forward on his hands to push himself up. “Kise-kun should know better than that.”

“Kurokocchiii,” Kise weeps crocodile tears, hugging all of his tails close to his body in fear of Kuroko touching and freezing them again. He gives an absolute look of betrayal to Kuroko’s unamused face. “I just wanted to be next to you. I just wanted to sleep with you tonight.”

“You want to sleep with me every night.”

“But—”

Kuroko sighs. “Kise-kun, why were you out so late?”

“Ah,” the tips of Kise’s ears fall flat against his head again. His tails still. Kuroko draws in a breath he doesn’t realize he needs. “It’s Akashicchi. You know, when he said we weren’t supposed to be near humans anymore. He says I can still go to my photoshoots, but I shouldn’t interact with the humans too much. So I went out with them for drinks. One last time, you know.”

“Akashi has never forced—”

Kise’s expression is sober. Decidedly sober. Definitely sober. Sober and confused. “I thought he told you, Kurokocchi. He said he was going to tell you today.”

_No._

“He didn't.”

“Oh,” Kise bites his lip, ears twitching again, as if he's a child that's been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Kuroko wasn't supposed to know there even was a cookie jar. “I thought…”

Kuroko thought, too. Kuroko thought red and gold Akashi was the same as completely red Akashi. Different, changed, but still the same person deep inside with the same morals, ideals. Broken but fixed, a red porcelain vase with a startling gold crack, but _fixed._

_“What do you wish for, yuki-onna?”_

_“The truth.”_

Kuroko casts his eyes outside and, to his surprise, finds snow. Snow, pouring from the heavens, falling with a gusty wind that shakes the flakes everywhere. A few of them make their way inside, desperate to cling to Kuroko. A blizzard. In the middle of October.

“Kurokocchi,” Kise is closer than Kuroko remembers him being, his hands on his veil, pushing against his skin. His lips come close, just like Akashi’s did, and with a grace that betrays his earlier intoxicated state, he leans down to steal a kiss from Kuroko’s lips. “Akashicchi’s right, you know. He's always right. Humans aren't worth it in the long run. They die so quickly and they have no powers of their own. It's lucky that we have each other, you know?”

The blizzard halts, just a little. The wind doesn't blow as hard.

Kuroko lets himself believe.

“Kise-kun, go to bed,” he says instead, pressing a cold hand against Kise’s cheek. “You're still intoxicated.”

“Kurokocchi,” Kise buries his face at the top of Kuroko’s hair, into his veil. He lets Kise’s hands slide down to his waist, pull him close until their bodies are flush. Kuroko doesn't like warmth, but he doesn't push Kise away. “Sleep with me tonight.”

It is innocent, and hopeful for something else, maybe, but it is so startlingly _Kise_ that Kuroko feels himself smile amidst the questions of _Akashi, Akashi._

“Only if you manage to walk to your room yourself, Kise-kun.”

“Kurokocchiiii!”

The blizzard fades. The wind stills. Kuroko lets himself believe for a little while longer, lets himself be caught in the illusion for just another day.

_“Do you wish to marry a yuki-onna, deity-san?”_

 

 

November is rainy, wet and humid, and despite the autumn chill, it is stuffy. Kuroko knows it’s because he’s used to colder, _much colder,_ temperatures, and where such a rain would be just bearable enough for everyone else, for him it is like cooking in a sauna or drowning in the hot springs. Kuroko stays inside his cool air-conditioned room of the manor more than he’d like to admit, sweating too much to last more than a few hours outside.

None of the other occupants of the house disagree with him. None of them—with the exception of Kise, who always has to leave for his photoshoots—want to step foot outside or go traversing around the forest. The lotuses in the lake behind the manor look like they’re about to crumble from the sheer weight of the water.

It is only thanks to Momoi and Kise’s shopping trips that they can even stay holed up inside in the first place. Akashi looks amused whenever the two come home with shopping bags and are accosted by a looming Murasakibara who looks like he hasn’t been fed in ages.

It’s only natural, after all, Kuroko thinks. The only people who can even begin to pass as human are Kise, who can shapeshift easily, and Momoi, who is already half-human. Sometimes Kuroko can pass as a human as well, with his veil being written off as a bizarre fashion style whenever they notice him (which isn’t too many times). Tokyo is no stranger to that.

It is, perhaps, easier, when the contemporary human populace no longer believe in things like _youkai_ and _deities_ and the supernatural. It’s easier for Kuroko to wander.

(Kuroko Tetsuya knows how to kill a—)

“Tetsuya,” Akashi is standing in front of the door to his room, arms perfectly crossed against his chest, like he has been waiting a while for Kuroko to return. Maybe he has. “Where have you been?”

“In the forest,” Kuroko answers. “I was also in town for a while to pick up some extra food. Murasakibara-kun ran out of snacks.”

“You should leave the shopping to Ryouta and Satsuki,” Akashi says. “There’s no need for you to leave the shrine.”

“They are busy today, and I felt bad about letting them do all of the work that’s needed when I also have the ability to contribute,” Kuroko says, a little more sharply, a little less monotone. Akashi narrows his eyes _(gold doesn’t suit him, gold isn’t supposed to be there, why gold, why did red become gold)_ and Kuroko relents, again. “I apologize for not informing you first, but I also wished to get fresh air for a while.”

“That is acceptable,” Akashi uncrosses his arms and walks forward two steps to Kuroko. He reaches his hand out and grasps the edges of Kuroko’s veil. Kuroko shivers, again. “Inform me when you want to go out next time. Daiki had a fit thinking you were kidnapped.”

“I was visiting a friend,” Kuroko smiles. “I will go and speak with Aomine-kun, then.”

The rain pauses.

Akashi’s hand doesn’t let go of his veil. “A human?”

“Yes,” Kuroko draws his lips into a line, and then blinks. “Actually, I wanted to talk to Akashi-kun about him, my friend.”

“Your friend?”

“Yes,” Kuroko says again, this time with a softer, fonder smile. “I met him at the supermarket a few years ago. His name is Ogiwara-san. He says he wants to visit the shrine next month and ask for Akashi-kun’s blessing when he goes to play his next game. If he wins, he can use the prize money to pay for his mother’s operation. Please hear him, even if it’s just a little while.”

“Is that so?” Akashi lets go of his veil with a glint in his eyes. “Then, I will listen to him at your behest, Tetsuya.”

“Thank you, Akashi-kun.”

It continues to rain on, and on, and on.

 

 

December comes quickly, though it still has not started snowing. The blizzard in October had many of the news outlets of Tokyo scrambling to find a source, but it had been gone as soon as it came. There were predictions for early snowfall as a result, but December has been mostly quiet, as Kuroko has made sure.

“Didn’t he say to meet here? Did I get the wrong shrine?”

“Good morning, Ogiwara-san.”

“Good—!” a scream. “Kuroko! Stop doing that! Where were you?”

“I was here the whole time, Ogiwara-san.”

“What’s with this ‘Ogiwara-san’ business? I told you that you can call me Shige!” Ogiwara hops forward and slings an arm around Kuroko’s shoulders, crushing Kuroko’s veil beneath his arm, and causing Kuroko to almost miss a step on his way up the stairs to the shrine. Ogiwara shivers. “Man, Kuroko, I’m never going to get over how cold your body feels most of the time. You sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

“I was born this way, Ogiwara-kun,” Kuroko doesn’t make an effort to dislodge Ogiwara’s arm from around his shoulders. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“If you say so,” Ogiwara says, shrugging and letting his arm drop. He looks at the stone stairs leading up to the top of the hill, and the red _torii_ marking the shrine’s entrance. “There are so many stairs here! Do you really work here every day, Kuroko?”

“Yes,” the corner of Kuroko’s lips twitch. “The steps are not so bad, Ogiwara-kun.”

“There are just _so many_ of them,” Ogiwara huffs, but then continues bounding up the steps two at a time. He turns around once he’s sufficiently ahead of Kuroko. “Let’s race, Kuroko! Whoever gets to the top first wins, and then you have to buy me ice cream!”

“Ogiwara-kun—!”

Kuroko’s plea falls on deaf ears as Ogiwara starts quickly running up the stairs, sometimes skipping three steps at a time. Kuroko huffs, but sets his own determination to try and outspeed Ogiwara, who is already almost to the top. If the steps were full of snow, maybe Kuroko could have been able to catch up, but his physical body has always been extremely lacking in stamina and strength.

When Kuroko finally reaches the top, he leans forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, the stone at his feet rapidly turning to ice as he tries to shake the adrenaline and calm his body from its rapid freezing to combat the warmth his sweat makes him feel.

Ogiwara is nowhere to be found.

“Ogiwara-kun?”

Kuroko makes a lap around the shrine, tugging his veil closer to himself as he walks. Suddenly, (and again) he feels cold. Freezing. Something is very, very wrong in the stillness of the shrine and its lack of inhabitants.

A _yuki-onna_ should not feel cold in the middle of winter.

“Kise-kun?” Silence. “Midorima-kun? Murasakibara-kun?”

Silence.

Kuroko makes for the manor at the center of the shrine, his home, when he sees smoke rising from behind it. Fearing the worst, he races across the ground and climbs onto the wooden porch, forgetting to take off his sandals as he rounds the corner.

“What’s—”

Aomine sits, fanning a small flame with his hands and his dark blue yukata half-way sliding down his body. At Kuroko’s entrance, he looks up from his fire and waves.

“Yo, Tetsu,” he yawns, taking his hands away from the fire for a little bit. It will not harm him, or the house, unless he lets it. “I thought you were goin’ out with your friend?”

“I am,” Kuroko sighs, the tension rolling off of his shoulders and onto the floor. The adrenaline is still pumping in his ears. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Aomine looks at the charred rectangles in front of him. “Akashi said there was gonna be some guest to the shrine today and wanted me to burn some peaches. Said he’s gonna take them to the human.”

Kuroko suddenly feels his world still.

“Burned peaches?”

“Yeah, it’s really weird, right?” Aomine yawns again, and lays back. “I figure whoever is coming today really pissed Akashi off. He already came by and took a few. You know how it is with burned peaches.”

Kuroko knows. Very well.

Somewhere, a bell rings.

“Oh, that must be the unlucky guy,” Aomine raises an eyebrow at Kuroko’s sudden expression of horror. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a human. We should have some fun once in a while, you know? Centuries of not being able to eat humans is so boring sometimes. You get it, don’t you?”

Kuroko feels the world stop, jump, like black and white film.

Aomine continues talking. “It’s winter, too, to boot. Maybe you can lead some unlucky guy to their death this year. Or cause an avalanche. Man, the first time you did it was so—”

Without waiting for Aomine to finish, Kuroko immediately turns around and sprints across the shrine grounds, to the donation box, to the bell pull, to the place where Ogiwara would go to clap his hands and pray for the resident deity’s blessing for his upcoming game.

The resident deity is Akashi Seijuurou.

(Kuroko Tetsuya knows how to—)

Ogiwara is nowhere to be found when Kuroko reaches the bell.

Akashi, however, sits atop the donation box with a smile.

“Tetsuya,” he says, all calm and regal and commanding, as if he has done nothing wrong. “I thought you were going out to meet a friend today?”

Kuroko feels so, so cold.

“I was. I am,” he says, clenching his fists and tugging hard on the veil on his head. “He—He came by here—Ogiwara-kun, I mean—he was going to pray and ask for… your blessing…”

“Ah, the human just now?” Akashi smoothly slides off of the box and walks forward one step at a time, letting his silks continue to billow in the December air. Kuroko involuntarily steps back: one, two, and then three steps. Akashi pretends not to notice. “I let Aomine have a bit of fun with him. He’s carrying the burnt peaches back home as we speak. The peaches burnt with a _kasha’s_ fire.”

“H-He was my friend, Akashi-kun!” Kuroko clings to his veil and pulls it closer around himself, until it even obscures his face. “I just asked for you to hear him… just for a little… his mother, she’s so sick, and she needs—”

“—and what of every human that comes by this shrine hoping for their parents to have good health, or their lovers, or their friends?” Akashi’s voice is so cold that it stabs Kuroko right in the heart, and he shivers. Again, and again, and again. He’s so, _so_ cold. “You did not ask me to hear them as well. You asked for your friend because he was your friend. Why does Ogiwara deserve special treatment when you have never spoken up for anyone else whose wishes I have not granted, or who I let one of the others kill? You never cared before.”

Kuroko doesn’t speak. His voice is gone. His throat is parched.

_Water._

“I don’t play biases, Tetsuya,” Akashi passes by him with a strong wind, and Kuroko falls to his knees, shaking. Shivering. “Humans are plentiful and fleeting. They are creatures of want. More will come to the shrine again, and perhaps in a century you can find another human friend. But they are not special.”

 _Not like you and I,_ goes unsaid.

(Kuroko desperately runs around Tokyo until his feet hurt, until one of the strings on his sandals have snapped, trying to find Ogiwara’s home, but they have never exchanged addresses, and only the wailing of fire sirens in the quiet night of the city tell Kuroko of his fate.

There is a plume of smoke in the distance, and it is burned into his eyes.)

 

The night before the new year is quiet and solemn, or perhaps that is just Kuroko’s own imagination as he sits in his room and waits for the house to fall silent. He has taken his bag of pearls from his drawers, dressed in his white wedding kimono again, and draped the white _uchikake_ over his shoulders. Like this, alone in the darkness of his room and peeking out from a sheer veil, he looks the part of a bride about to go off and meet his groom.

That comparison is not too far from the truth.

Kuroko closes his eyes and silently counts to ten, before he stands up and looks forward to the _shoji_ doors in front of him. One step, and then two steps, and then he turns his head to look at the room he will leave behind.

Atop a dresser lies a small, ceramic frog. Midorima had given it to him once, when he first entered the shrine, as a good luck gift. _Your lucky item,_ Midorima had said.

Aomine’s crystallized fire lies glowing next to his abandoned futon. _It’ll keep you warm,_ he’d said, pushing them into Kuroko’s hands despite Kuroko’s affinity for the cold and his repulsion to warmth. _Come on, I made them myself. Don’t they look cool?_ He’d accepted them because Aomine had looked so earnest, and Kuroko believed in his smile.

 _Oh, it’s broken,_ Murasakibara’s voice comes to mind when he sees the snapped oni mask on the other side of the room. _Well, I can just get a new one. Wanna come hunting, Kuro-chin?_

And his closet, full of clothes, all of them gifts—

Kuroko slides open the door, and steps outside.

There is a blizzard raging, wind howling, and snow has started to seep into the floorboards of the porch. Kuroko does not feel cold, even now. The blizzard is like home.

He takes one step forward.

“Kurokocchi!” Kise’s voice pierces through the night. “Kurokocchi, where are you going?”

 _Where have you been?_ Akashi’s voice rings in his head.

“Away,” he says, and does not specify where. _He_ does not even know where. Perhaps he will wander for a while, perhaps he will retreat to the mountains. Kuroko has not been away from the shrine since he first entered it, almost a millennia ago.

“What?” Kise steps forward, into the snow, and he’s in nothing but a light yukata, his sleepwear. He will catch a cold. “You can’t go!”

 _Where are you going?_ Akashi’s voice asks, again, like a phantom.

“Farewell, Kise-kun,” he says instead.

“Ku-Kurokocchi!” Kise is shivering, rubbing the sides of his arms as his tails wrap around him for some semblance of warmth. “Wh-Why are you going? Wh-What’s wrong? I-I’ll fix it for you, K-Kurokocchi—”

(Kise is part of the problem, much like Kuroko is, as well. That’s why he has to leave.)

For a second, Kuroko wonders, and thinks, and begs in his head—

_Does he have to go? Will Kise follow?_

But he knows if he asks, if he even hints at asking, Kise would drop everything for him in an instant, and that’s not what Kuroko wants. He has a life here, but Kuroko does not. Not anymore.

“T-Take me with you,” Kise is close enough to wrap his arms around Kuroko’s body, bury his face in his veil. “I’ll come with you.”

Kuroko steps back, and pushes him away. “No, you can’t. You belong here.”

“So do you!” Kise reaches out for him again, but the blizzard is his home. Kuroko knows how to hide in a snowstorm.

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Kurokocchi—!”

He steps back, and turns around to face the snow-covered copse in the distance, across the lake.

(Kuroko Tetsuya knows how to kill a dream.)

“Kuroko—!”

 _“Farewell, Kuroko Tetsuya,”_ the blizzard sings. _“Farewell.”_

 

 

 

He treks alone into the forest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to [rennae](https://twitter.com/nartfarts) for the art!! and on such short notice too;;
> 
> so, yes, akashi's story takes place from the very beginning, while kuroko's story takes place further in time. chapters will flip between these two and their settings, so please bear with me! (*´д｀*)
> 
> ANYWAY  
> it's really thanks to everyone's comments that i was able to write so quickly  
> please continue supporting me! | ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ
> 
> [find me on twitter](https://twitter.com/octomaidly/)


	3. what we plea will be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _here, i decree_   
>  _opposition in all things:_   
>  _for earth, sky_   
>  _for winter, summer_   
>  _for darkness, Light._

Youkai, Seijuurou learns, are more like humans than he initially thought.

Atsushi thrives on food, where Seijuurou needs none. Food is a luxury he can savor if he wants to—the feel of sweet tangerines on his tongue, the juice that glides down his throat when he bites through skin. His body will have no need for them, because deities are not _truly_ living, just existing. Food is expelled like impurities, tossed back through Seijuurou’s breath, creating a mist that exhales with every inhale.

His body instead draws sustenance from love, belief, adoration, devotion. Faith. Loyalty. Atsushi is all of these without Seijuurou ever needing to ask. Oni tend to be picky, or so the world tells him (the rustling of the trees, the life that thrives around him). Atsushi does not care very much for his own freedom, if only he is taken care of in return for the strength he offers.

So, Seijuurou lets him eat the offerings that are left at his small, wooden shrine by the lake. (Momosuke, upon Seijuurou’s return, had promised something greater, grander, for a deity such as him. It would take but a second to grant Momosuke the sight which he lacks, but Seijuurou knows there is a balance to the world. Momosuke does not want for sight, and Seijuurou refuses to grant out of pity.)

Atsushi thanks him, but not verbally. Partially, Seijuurou knows, because he does not have the words for it, and partially because Atsushi feels no need for it. Thanks is given in his servitude, in his company of Seijuurou who cannot speak to humans, in the food he can eat every day without needing to wait for the next unsuspecting human to come by. For now, Atsushi acts like a mouthpiece, meant to convey the words of a god only he can see.

Like this, youkai are much more like divinity. Humans cannot see nor hear him, but youkai can. Human hands pass through his form, but youkai can grasp him. Seijuurou learns through Atsushi, how to touch.

 _What,_ is touch.

Atsushi draws close to him, sometimes, sitting on the dirt with his head next to Seijuurou’s dangling legs on the shrine. His feet brush Atsushi’s shoulders, and their skin creates heat. Touch, like all human things, is foreign and alien when Seijuurou has spent most of his two centuries of existence passing through objects and humans alike. It is chilling, cold, almost like Seijuurou isn’t _there._

But with Murasakibara Atsushi, he feels warmth. Faith. Loyalty. So, he breathes.

(The mortal realm, he decides, is full of many wonders. How amazing it must be to the humans who inhabit it.)

Atsushi does not ask for much, if anything at all besides the necessities. Seijuurou does not need for much, besides his servitude. Even in servitude, Seijuurou does not ask of Atsushi for anything more besides his company. Two hundred years is still not yet adulthood in the years of a deity, but time continues to pass.

“How old are you?” Seijuurou asks one day, one decade later, sitting upon the roof of his small shrine as he always does.

Atsushi stops momentarily in his chewing, a single of slice of tangerine sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He hums, thinking. “I don't know. Maybe two hundred?”

Seijuurou raises an eyebrow. “You don't know?”

“I don't need to,” Atsushi goes back to eating with another hum. “It's just from one meal to the next, and maybe sometimes I need to fight, but since Aka-chin took me from the mountain I don't need to count anymore.”

“Hmm,” Seijuurou leans forward, his chin resting on his knuckles. “Where are your horns, Murasakibara? Oni should have horns.”

“Oh, they're here,” Atsushi stuffs the last slice of tangerine into his mouth, and then parts the front of his hair with his fingers. Two small, curved horns protrude from the tops of his forehead, usually covered by the mass of purple hair. “See?”

“I do,” Seijuurou leans forward, tracing the curve of one black horn with a finger. “They are minuscule.”

“Mmm, yeah. They grow with me.”

“You are not small.”

Atsushi shrugs.

Seijuurou counts the bands that wrap around the horn.  Oni ages can be counted like trees, with the rings that appear on their horns. Each band would be one hundred years. A century of life. A testament to survival.

Atsushi has three.

  


 

Momosuke takes the small shrine by the lake—Seijuurou’s shrine—and moves it. Seijuurou does not stop him, curious, wondering, as he follows the footsteps of the boy who would become a man. He is helped by a small team of workers, each of them who bow and kneel at Seijuurou’s feet as they ask for his forgiveness when they lift it.

They’ve strung bells around the shrine and red rope to hold it down. They bring it down the hill and to the village across the river. Seijuurou sits atop the small shrine they parade around with, the wood heavy on their shoulders, but their songs loud with the ringing of the bells. It is a joyous singing, a joyous parade.

A festival for a land god.

Seijuurou watches in small fascination as the workers haul his shrine on their shoulders and walk through the village. He remains seated there as they move, his bare feet pressed against the square designs on the sides of the shrine that Momo had painstakingly carved there years and years ago. A simpler time.

Atsushi follows at a distance, for unlike Seijuurou, the humans see him. Yet he follows nonetheless, and the humans are sure to give him a path.

An oni as the mouthpiece for a deity—Seijuurou sees the irony, of course. For other gods, the thought of adopting anyone other than a human as their mouthpiece is unthinkable. It is the humans who give deities life, after all, and a deity’s job is to serve in return.

Seijuurou sits atop the small wooden shrine and looks down from his perch, at all the humans who crowd around his procession and each offer their blessings and hope to him.

A deity’s place is not to serve, but protect. Rule. _Govern_.

They _need_ him, Seijuurou realizes, and smiles.  


 

 

Construction on Seijuurou’s new shrine is finished in the next ten years, and he returns—yet again—barefoot. This time, instead of just a small wooden shrine by the lake, they give him a manor with a garden and a porch and a cobblestone road leading up to it. Atsushi is rolling a tangerine peel around in his mouth and bothering the fishes in the lake when Seijuurou finally arrives back home, and flicks his purple eyes up to wordlessly greet Seijuurou’s presence.

(How strange is that—the concept of home? Do deities have homes? Is this where he is always destined to return to no matter what, a place that will accept him for the rest of eternity?)

Atsushi doesn’t bow like the humans do. Seijuurou doesn’t need him to.

“They said they wanted to build a room for me,” Atsushi says, still sucking on the ends of his tangerine peel. Seated in his hands are bundles of cloth, all of them seeming to burst with the multiple spherical shapes inside. “And also for everyone else. What does that mean?”

Seijuurou smiles and looks down at the village down the mountain, across the river.

“It means there will be more people here soon besides you and me,” he turns around and makes his way up the wooden porch to survey the bamboo floors and shoji doors. Crafted to perfection, with not even a splinter out of place.

“Really? When? Will I have to share food with them?”

“Relax, Murasakibara,” Seijuurou lets his hand rest upon the wooden posts all around his house that help keep his roof up. A traditional house and manor for a traditional deity. “There will be more than enough to go around. Rooms, food…. worship.”

Atsushi frowns and hugs his bundles of cloth closer to himself.

“They won’t take your snacks, Murasakibara.”

“Mmm,” Atsushi pouts. “Yes they will. These are mine. I’m going to eat them.”

“Murasakibara.”

“Aka-chin.”

“Great Oni!”

Seijuurou turns around at the intrusion, and watches as a single human runs up the mountain to fall to his knees in front of Atsushi. Atsushi tilts his head in confusion and only slightly holds his bundles closer to himself.

“Put down your mochi, Murasakibara,” Seijuurou says. “You can eat them later. We have a visitor.”

Atsushi grumbles, but puts them all down gently on the bamboo porch, near Seijuurou’s feet. It is almost like an offering. Seijuurou feels his lips twitch.

“Great Oni!” the human at Atsushi’s feet presses his forehead into the hard cobblestone path. “We humbly ask of the deity for assistance in our time of need. Our village is besieged!”

“Besieged?” Seijuurou repeats, blinking slowly.

“Uhm,” Atsushi adds, lamely. “Explain that. Thing. Or whatever.”

“Great Oni, Celestial Deity, hard winds have come in from the west,” the human does not pick himself up from the ground. Atsushi briefly looks at Seijuurou’s position on the porch, but Seijuurou only shakes his head, so Atsushi does not tell the man to lift his head. “It has created a dust storm that has buried our crops. It leaves our village stricken with dirt and sand. We did not wish to impose upon the Celestial Deity’s new home, but we must beg you now to help us.”

The human falls silent after that and still does not raise his head. Atsushi looks imploringly at Seijuurou from the garden as if asking _what do I do?_

Seijuurou draws his lips into a thin line. “Tell the human that I will grant his wish. This village is mine to protect and rule. I will make sure no harm comes to it, or anyone who lives under me.”

“Aka-chi—I mean. The deity-san,” Seijuurou gives him and a _look,_ and Atsushi puffs his cheeks like a child who has just been reprimanded. “He will help.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” the human lifts his head only to bow it again. Seijuurou makes a small gesture with his fingers and Atsushi tells the man to stand up. He does. “I will tell the village! I will be sure to tell them of your mercy!”

The human runs off again, almost tripping on his yukata as he runs down the cobblestone pathway. Atsushi only sits on the porch and reaches for a mochi bundle that he had put down earlier.

“What are you doing, Murasakibara?” Seijuurou makes his way onto the road as well, at the entrance to the walls of his manor. “You will accompany me into the village. As my retainer, you will safeguard me from harm, and do anything that I require.”

“But Aka-chin doesn’t need a bodyguard,” Atsushi stuffs a mochi into his mouth but stands up anyway and lumbers after Seijuurou. He takes the iron club from his back and holds it loosely in his hand. The end of the club drags along the road, creating a loud and foreboding scratching sound. “Aka-chin is stronger than I am.”

“Come, Murasakibara,” Seijuurou does not answer, and merely begins descending the mountain with the large oni in tow—towering over his smaller frame. “Let us stop this great wind.”

“Okay.”

  


 

They reach village at a leisurely pace. The humans are all gathered near the riverbank, offering each other food and water as they watch a great tornado ransack their homes. The tornado does not move, much to Seijuurou’s curiosity, and stays mostly in one place.

“Great Oni!” the same human from before greets them with relief in his eyes. Atsushi glances at Seijuurou again, almost like for a cue, and the human follows his sight to where Seijuurou is presumably standing. “Celestial Deity!”

At the sound of those words, the human villagers all huddle around Seijuurou’s area and press their foreheads to the ground. Momosuke is not among them.

“Where is the human who tends to my shrine, Momosuke?” Seijuurou asks.

“The Momosuke human,” Atsushi translates. “The deity-san wants to know where he is.”

“Oh, Momosuke,” a woman in the back of the crowd chokes back tears. “He could not escape the great wind. It took him into the air and slashed him to pieces. Oh, Celestial Deity, please have mercy on our souls for not being able to protect your priest. We tried our best to escort him out, but—”

A priest? Seijuurou blinks again, this time in confusion. He has never made Momosuke his priest—he has never made anyone anything, besides the use of Murasakibara Atsushi as his mouthpiece to the mortals. Is that what these humans saw Momosuke as?

A thought for another time.

“The wind cuts,” Seijuurou repeats, mostly to himself. Atsushi hefts his club onto his shoulder and uses his other hand to munch down on another brightly colored mochi. The villagers around them watch with bated breaths.

“Aaah,” Atsushi sighs. “This is so troublesome.”

“What is it, Murasakibara?”

“Mmm, big tornadoes… great winds…” Atsushi makes a face. “I don’t want to deal with this. On my mountain it was like this too until I chased him away.”

“Him?”

“You know, like, the big birds,” Atsushi flaps the arm not holding his club to imitate wings. “Black feathers. They make big winds.”

“Ah,” Seijuurou turns his eyes toward the tornado and lets his lips stretch in a small and cold smile. “I see now. A _tengu_ who thinks he can impede on my territory. Murasakibara, since you have experience, you will deal with him.”

“Eh?” Atsushi looks at the big tornado, and then back to Seijuurou. The process repeats a few more times. “Why me?”

“I have not yet seen your combat prowess, and this is a good gauge for me to ascertain as to whether or not you fit my predictions,” Seijuurou gestures to the tornado again. “Go on, Murasakibara. This is part of your servitude.”

“But Aka-chin—”

“Murasakibara,” Seijuurou repeats, again, in a lower tone. “Do you think to oppose me?”

Atsushi shivers.

With a sigh, the oni grips the handle of his club tight, and makes his way towards the spinning tornado with resignation. The humans watch him go in awe, and Seijuurou sits among them, his knuckles pressed against his cheek.

_A wind that cuts._

Seijuurou watches as Atsushi takes a deep breath, and then raises his club above his head. He watches as Atsushi slams the club down on the tornado with all the force he can muster, all the power of his youkai body condensed into the iron of the club. It glows and shimmers. His hands become a blur as he swings the club around.

_Clang!_

_Clang clang clang!_

It is an entire minute of Atsushi planting his feet in the dirt and swinging wildly at the tornado, with ringing noises of metal against metal that fill the air. Seijuurou watches, absolutely fascinated, at the collision of youkai against youkai. Atsushi may be the first that Seijuurou has met of his kind, but Seijuurou was born with all knowledge of the world.

Atsushi does not match his expectations. He _exceeds_ them. He knocks all preconceptions down like the raw power he swings in his club. Seijuurou may have seen how unique and strong he was even among his own kind, but to the extent of what Murasakibara Atsushi the oni truly is—Seijuurou cannot be more pleased.

This tengu, however, is also more than just _a tengu,_ if it can keep up with Atsushi’s fast and strong attacks.

“Stop,” Seijuurou says, and reaches a hand out as if to pull on an invisible rope.

The air stills with his command—even the tornado fades in seconds. Atsushi stops mid-swing with his iron club, and the tengu on the other side stops mid-block with his metal fan.

Flabbergasted, the tengu hops back a few steps, the wings on his back stuttering in surprise. Black feathers fall to the ground around his feet.

“A deity?” he says, whispers, almost like it cannot be true.

Seijuurou smiles a hollow smile. “A _daitengu,_ I see.”

“I did not mean—” the daitengu steps back, and then grits his teeth and shakes his head. “No, that is a lie. Had I known, I would not have done as I have. I suppose anything I try will be used against me at this point.”

“Observant,” Seijuurou says, and floats the paces over to land in front of Atsushi’s frame. The oni reclaims his hunched form and sits down the ground, determined to tune them out with the snacks in his pockets. “Why were you here?”

“I…” the daitengu knits his brows together, and looks at the ground as if in deep thought. Seijuurou waits, for all the patience a deity can and will have. “I do not remember, only that I was just born, and very angry.”

“Just born?” Seijuurou leans forward a bit. “A daitengu, just born? You are not lying.”

“I am not.”

Daitengu births are one in a million. To be born a daitengu is to be born with tremendous strength and power. They are the result of a human’s death, which means—

“Momosuke?” Seijuurou asks, tests.

The daitengu frowns. “I do not know that person.”

“That is to be expected. Then, what is your name? You must have been given one at birth.”

Much like Seijuurou’s name—given unto him when the humans dreamed him. They named him Akashi Seijuurou, the ruler of ten, and Seijuurou knows what it means. Daitengu are dreamed, just like deities are, though yet not in the same way.

Tiptoeing the line between youkai and deity, like youkai tiptoe the line between deity and human. Perhaps a better word is not “dreamed” but “had a nightmare”.

The daitengu thinks for a long moment, green eyes focusing on the horizon beyond.

“My name is Midorima Shintarou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tengu lore is taken from a passage about how tengu are created when priests cannot enter heaven  
> or something like that?? i have not been able to find it again even though i swear i've seen it before (((( ;°Д°))))
> 
> thank you all for reading!! i'm sorry this chapter is a little bare;;  
> i really enjoy reading your comments and i hope to see more Σ(ノ°▽°)ノ!


	4. a faithful end decree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _by the Maker's will i decree_   
>  _harmony in all things._   
>  _let Balance be restored_   
>  _and the world given eternal life_

The trees are endless in the forest, as are Kuroko’s steps among them. The snow covers up his tracks within seconds of each step, so much so that even a skilled hunter would have trouble finding his trail. He’s good at that, Kuroko muses, hiding when he doesn’t want to be found. The blizzard wraps him in its embrace and it is cold, cold, cold.

(Like home.)

When Kuroko was younger, the thought of living anywhere that didn’t receive constant snowfall was absolutely ridiculous. His mother had laughed at his insinuations that he’d die, that _they’d_ die, and it tickled the hair on his head. _There are so many beautiful places out there, Kuroko,_ she’d said. _Not all of them have snow._

She was right, of course, as she always was. When Kuroko left his village behind, he had trekked in the snow until he came upon a deity and his charge, and for the first time he had felt the breath leave his lungs.

Akashi Seijuurou had been beautiful beyond belief, even outside of the blizzard. His hands were warm but they were not bad, and they slid over Kuroko’s face, neck, and shoulders like they knew the path they were treading, like Akashi Seijuurou always knew Kuroko Tetsuya would find him in that blizzard, that they would marry.

( _It is law,_ his mother says in his mind. _When you meet someone outside the village who knows what you truly are, you must wed them._

Where other yuki-onna would spend at least a few centuries terrorizing humans until one came along that recognized them, Kuroko Tetsuya’s dreams of the hunt had been squashed the moment he met Akashi Seijuurou, all soft, knowing smiles and welcoming aura of a being created from wishes.)

It has been almost a millennia since then. Kuroko has not seen the outside world beyond the boundaries of the shrine and the mountains in the distance. Murasakibara had lived there once, he was told, before Akashi had even been dreamt into existence. A fearsome oni on a fearsome mountain tamed by an even more fearsome deity.

He doesn’t know where he is going, or where he even wants to go. Kuroko only lets the forest dictate his path. The bag of pearls in his hands are like weights on his arms, and Kuroko only grips them tighter in his trek.

They are tears, every single one of them. Yuki-onna cry tears of jewels.

He had given them to Akashi, for every tear that Kuroko would never shed, like a wedding gift. It is not in a yuki-onna’s nature to cry—

Kuroko inhales sharply, stopping in his path. There is a cry that bubbles in the back of his throat and threatens to spill out through his eyes.

_Yuki-onna do not cry._

He has left the shrine now, and his village will no longer welcome him as well. Yuki-onna are not allowed to return unless they are with child and Kuroko will never be able to go back in his state. That is the fate of those rare few male yuki-onna that are born only once in a few generations. When his mother said goodbye to him all those centuries ago, it was the last goodbye he would ever hear from her.

Where will he go, now? There is no place that Kuroko would think a yuki-onna would be welcome. Perhaps he will continue the hunt he was supposed to experience all along, until the next person who would recognize him will wed him.

(But he also knows, deep down inside—he would never hunt another human again, not humans like Ogiwara, like the fire that swallowed him whole.)

Kuroko closes his eyes and follows the blizzard.

 

 

It’s a wonder that his white wedding kimono has not once been dirtied the entire day he’s been walking. Perhaps that’s just the make of it: thread spun by a tsuchigumo, sewn by a tsuchigumo, gifted by a tsuchigumo to his mother after the completion of a favor. That is how all yuki-onna mothers gift their daughters their wedding clothes.

Kuroko tugs on the ends of his _uchikake,_ drawing the silk closer to himself and out of the snow. As he is no longer married or engaged _—inhale—_ he is just another lonely yuki-onna trailing after another marriage-to-be, or maybe just another life.

“Oi! Is anyone out here?”

Kuroko turns his hard sharply, the breath stilled in his lungs. _Already? Have they found me already? I thought I hid my tracks—_

There is a figure in the distance, a splotch of red and black on the white snow. Kuroko only watches their movements with bated breath, the silk of his kimono clenched tightly in his fists. He isn’t so stupid as to think he can make a break for it if they _do_ spot him—they would catch him in a heartbeat. Kuroko is so much weaker than any normal yuki-onna, than any normal youkai.

He takes slow steps further into the forest, careful of the figure in the field. He’d like to think he gave himself a head start by leaving at night, and he’s been walking for almost a day now, but nothing happens in the shrine that Akashi Seijuurou does not know about, not even Kuroko’s departure.

Kuroko is halfway into the forest—

“Hey there!” the figure calls, and Kuroko blinks as he realizes that whoever the person was, they are suddenly a lot closer than they were just a few seconds ago. A human could never move that fast in such a small span of time.

_It can’t be._

Kuroko turns around, his heart pounding in his ears.

There is a man in front of him, much, _much_ taller than Kuroko’s small physique, although it’s not like Kuroko is unused to being dwarfed. The youkai back at the shrine...

 _This isn’t them,_ Kuroko realizes, exhaling a sigh of relief that he did not know he had been holding. The grip on his _uchikake_ loosens. _They didn’t find me._

The man has flaming red hair with darker roots and wears an ornate stone colored collar around his neck with a single silver bell attached to the front. Two cat-like ears are perched on his head.

His aura is...

“What the fuck, man, I’ve been calling for you for a while now!” the man leans in, bundled in a black parka with a fur liner. Kuroko stays as still as a prey cornered by a predator, mind still a bit jumbled from the relief (and… sadness?) of his identity, or lack thereof.

Kuroko composes himself, sliding his hands over his thighs and pitching forward just slightly in a perfectly polite bow. “I’m extremely sorry, sir,” he says, lowly. “I didn’t notice you.”

“The hell you didn’t notice me,” the man scoffs, rubbing his red nose with a finger and sniffling from the cold. “I _barely_ noticed you. You don’t even have a scent. What kind of youkai are you, to be out in the snow like this? And why are you wearing a wedding dress and veil?”

“It’s a kimono,” Kuroko replies with a sigh. “I’m travelling somewhere.”

“Are you trying to get to the nearest town?” the man’s ears perk up, and they twitch slightly. Kuroko watches them, almost mesmerized. “It’s not safe to travel out in the snow like this. Maybe we could go together?”

“I know where I’m going, sir,” Kuroko tilts his head just slightly. “To be fair, we have just met. I do not think travelling together like this would be wise. Unless…”

“I-It’s just! The snow out here hinders visibility you know—”

“—Are you lost?”

The man falls silent, the red rising to his cheeks even more than the cold would warm them. Kuroko feels a small smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“Stranger-san, there is no shame in admitting to being lost,” Kuroko says gently.

“Ah, shut up,” the man says, slapping a palm to his face and groaning. The bell on his stone collar jingles slightly with the movement. “I’ve been stuck out here for _hours_ now.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m trying to find Tokyo. I just moved over here from America, and I’m supposed to be staying with some people over here, but the flight I got on took me to… not-Tokyo.”

“Stranger-san—”

“Don’t call me that, it’s weird. My name is Kagami Taiga.”

Kuroko readjusts his veil, his fingers curled around the laced edges. “Kagami-san, you are a little ways from Kyoto. You can’t walk to Tokyo from here.”

“K-Kyoto?!” Kagami immediately turns his head to stare into the distance, squinting at a tall building above the treeline. “I thought temples were just everywhere in Japan!”

Kuroko smiles a small smile. “The nearest town is in the opposite direction. Perhaps you can find a train station there and take the train from Kyoto to Tokyo. The ride is only a few hours, as opposed to the few weeks you’ll have to walk.”

“Ah, fuck,” Kagami huffs, a puff of steam coming from his mouth as he exhales. “Do you mind taking me there? I can’t see anything in this snow, and you seem to know where you’re going. It’d be better than running into humans, at any rate.”

“I’m travelling on my own, Kagami-san,” Kuroko says patiently. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline.”

“It was worth a try I guess,” Kagami shrugs. “I never thought I’d meet a youkai out here in the blizzard, though. I mean, you _are_ one, right? It’s just… you don’t smell like anything at all.”

“It’s a quirk,” Kuroko can feel a laugh bubbling at the back of his throat, but only opts to smile again. Kagami Taiga is… very nice, and his mannerisms remind him of… _  
_ _“Hey, Tetsu,” Aomine says on a sunny day, sprawled on the porch of the manor again as he watches the fishes swim by in the lake below. His yukata has slid off one of his shoulders again, the front parted too until Aomine is practically shirtless. “Got a minute?”_

_“For what, Aomine-kun?” Kuroko moves closer anyway and sits down next to the lounging kasha, tucking his feet beneath him and putting all the weight on his knees. His veil pools around his legs._

_There are cicadas buzzing loudly in the background, a sound that Kuroko has never heard before coming to the shrine. Summer is hot and heavy, and bears down on him, even in the light yukata he wears with almost nothing underneath. Yuki-onna aren’t meant for summer._

_“To just hang out or something, I don’t know,” Aomine yawns and rolls over until he can prop his head up with his hand, his elbow digging into the floorboards. “Guess it’s kinda hard for you to go out in this weather, huh.”_

_“It’s summer, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko wipes the trickling sweat off of his brow. “I’m used to colder temperatures. This is just… sweltering.”_

_“Ha!” Aomine laughs, letting his head thunk against the wood. “Summer is perfect for me. Winter is just too cold. Can’t burn anything then.”_

_“Please don’t burn the shrine down,” Kuroko says dryly._

_“Akashi would have my ass. I_ like _my ass.”_

_Kuroko smiles faintly, bearing the heat for just a bit longer as he sits there on the porch with Aomine. The cicadas continue to buzz._

_And buzz._

_And—_

_“—Oi, Tetsu!”_

_In the next moment, Kuroko is hoisted up into the air, his mind fuzzy and hazy as his vision swims. There are arms wrapped around his legs, around his torso, until Kuroko focuses long enough to realize he’s now staring at the ceiling, and his head feels woozy._

_“Tetsu, what the fuck,” Aomine says, holding onto him closely as he starts walking to find a door back inside. “Don’t come outside if you’re gonna faint, you idiot!”_

_“Ah… to hear Aomine-kun call me an idiot is very insulting…”_

_“I’m going to drop you.”_

_Aomine finds a door that slides open at the end of the hallway and quickly steps inside. Kuroko is hit with a wave of cold air that feels like oxygen going back into his lungs again and he gasps, squirming in Aomine’s arms as his senses come back to him._

_“Is this Midorima’s room? It’s too fucking clean,” Aomine sets him down on the tatami mats and gets to work trying to find the daitengu’s futon. Kuroko only rolls over listlessly, blinking, trying to get his senses into working order. The heat had been a little too much._

_He’s only been blearily staring at the cabinet at the far side of the room for a few minutes when Aomine whoops in triumph and then he feels something hit the floor next to him._

_“Of course he fucking had it in his wardrobe like some sort of housewife,” Aomine says. He takes Kuroko back into his arms and kicks the futon over until it’s relatively centered in the room and then lays Kuroko down on it. “You know, even when you’re overheating, you’re still ice cold. It’s creepy.”_

_“Aomine-kun doesn’t appreciate my aesthetics,” Kuroko laughs softly, snuggling into the blankets and futon he’s been laid on top off._

_There’s a silence afterward, and Kuroko thinks of drifting off to sleep in Midorima’s room and Midorima’s futon when Aomine speaks up again._

_“Don’t scare me like that again, Tetsu.”_

_There is a warmth in his chest, and it is unlike any other warmth that Kuroko has ever felt. It is not intrusive, or unnatural, or as life-threatening as the summer heat outside. Kuroko buries his face in the pillow to hide his smile._

_“Thank you, Aomine-kun.”_

Kuroko draws a hand to his chest, his heart beating a mile a minute as he recalls a memory from long ago. Longer, even, from before Kise had entered the shrine. Longer even still, when Akashi smiled smiles that were genuine and soft, not like the now predatory glint and the show of teeth.

(Even still, Kuroko can’t help but think, even this Akashi can still steal the breath from his lungs.)

“Hey, are you okay?” Kuroko blinks as he finds himself staring up at the worried face of Kagami Taiga, his face scrunched up and brows knitted in worry. There are arms around him, hands that grip tightly on his arms through the silken fabric of his wedding kimono. “You suddenly started spacing out. Is the cold getting to you?”

“Thank you for your concern,” Kuroko starts, exhaling. “I’m perfectly fine, though.”

“Perfectly fine my ass!” Kagami presses his large palms to Kuroko’s face, and the heat from them sends shivers down Kuroko’s spine. “You’re cold to touch! I was starting to wonder how a youkai like you could survive out here in the snow! There’s a blizzard raging on and you’re just in a wedding kimono! You honestly need to find town more than I do.”

“Kagami-san, I’m alright,” Kuroko draws his lips into a thin line. “After all, I’m a—”

“It doesn’t matter what you are!” Kagami says, interrupting Kuroko. “Come on, I’ll transform and carry you the rest of the way.”

“Kagami-san, isn’t that a little too forward—”

Kuroko is interrupted again as Kagami steps back and suddenly pitches forward, and watches as Kagami’s jaw enlarges to fill with canines as large as Kuroko’s hand. The rest of his body bends and breaks, until there’s a swath of white fire in his vision and what’s standing before him a large orange tiger—or, a tiger with a mane like a lion’s, and white fire at his feet.

Kuroko has never seen a youkai like this before.

“Being stuck in human form kinda sucks sometimes,” Kagami says, pawing at the ground and stretching his body like a cat. Well, if Kuroko really thinks about it, he _is_ a cat. Just… a really big one. Slightly bigger than a horse.

The bell on his stone collar jingles again.

“If Kagami-san doesn’t mind my curiosity, what youkai are you?” Kuroko asks.

“It’s kinda hard to explain?” Kagami shakes his head and neck, causing his mane to fly around and the bell on his collar to jingle more. “I’m not exactly a youkai. Not like most youkai, anyway. But that’s another conversation. Come on, Kuroko.”

“Kagami-san, I still think we should talk more about this first. Isn’t it rather rude to just climb onto someone’s back when you’ve known them for only half an hour?”

“Oi, come on, don’t be so stiff,” Kagami leans forward and lowers his body until he is laying flat on the snow and at Kuroko’s waist height. “I’m trying to do a good deed here.”

“This is awkward for me,” Kuroko tries again.

“It’s even more awkward to be out here in this blizzard! You’re so cold that you make _me_ feel cold,” Kagami shivers, but the snow melts beneath his body and white flames until there is a patch of greenery in the midst of the snow-covered field. “Get on.”

“Kagami-san, I really do have to refuse. I’ll be alright in this blizzard,” Kuroko walks until he’s in front of Kagami and can speak to him face-to-snout. “I thank you for your kindness, though. I am just naturally cold.”

“Naturally cold?” Kagami snorts, but falls silent a moment later. “Wait…”

“What is Kagami-san?” Kuroko asks again, letting the tips of his veil touch Kagami’s nose. Kagami recoils at the coldness of the fabric and Kuroko smiles.

“I’m… uh… a _komatora,_ you know, like… _komainu,_ but different,” Kagami shakes his head again, sneezing as Kuroko’s cold spreads to his face. He huffs afterward, getting back up on his paws until he dwarfs Kuroko yet again. “Not really youkai, I guess.”

A shrine guardian. How ironic.

Kagami sneezes again and the white fires around his feet die out. The silver bell on his neck doesn’t make a sound this time, even though it shakes.

“This cold is… this blizzard has been going on for a while now…” Kagami says, suddenly shivering. “Ugh…”

“How long have you been out here?” Kuroko asks, his voice rising just a bit. “There has been a blizzard for an entire day now.”

“I was out here since it started,” Kagami sneezes yet again. In another flash of white light and fire, Kuroko sees a human in the _komatora’s_ place. Kagami wraps his parka tighter around himself. “Been trying to find some roads, and then the snow came in. It wasn’t in the forecast when I looked, and now it’s too cold for my phone to work.”

Kuroko feels a sting in his chest and guiltily looks at his hands. There had only been predictions for light snowfall, but Kuroko had chosen to amplify it into a blizzard to smokescreen his leave from the shrine. If Kagami had been out here since then, and freezing because of that…

“Kagami-san, I’m sorry,” Kuroko says in a small voice. He pulls the veil tighter around his head. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know about what? The blizzard?” Kagami raises an eyebrow at him. “No one knew it was coming.”

“I feel at fault,” Kuroko continues, staring at the snow beneath his geta and how it falls. “It was only supposed to be a light snowfall.”

“Yeah, it was… how is it your fault? Can you control the weather? I mean you don’t look…”

Something like realization dawns on Kagami’s face.

“Are you… I mean aren’t they all female?” Kagami frowns and shakes his head. “Ah, whatever. You’re… one of those snow women right? Um…”

_(It is law. When you meet someone outside the village who knows what you truly are—)_

“Kagami-san,” Kuroko speaks up. “If you say the next few words you’re thinking of saying, I can help you out of the blizzard and to the nearest town. But I wouldn’t be leaving you, then.”

“Of course I don’t want you to leave to go into this by yourself, but I guess if you’re actually a yuki-onna, it wouldn’t be a problem for you anyway, right?” Kagami scratches his head.

Kuroko feels a tiny surge of warmth in his chest. “Do you wish to marry a yuki-onna, Kagami-san?”

“Marriage? What?” Kagami looks at Kuroko as if he’s grown a second head. “I mean, I just want to get out of this snow and to a warm place. If that’s what you’re offering, then yeah.”

Kuroko offers his hand, pale and delicate and almost invisible beneath the heavy snowfall, but Kagami, after a long silence, takes it. His skin is darker than Kuroko’s, tanner and warmer, and Kuroko smiles as he wraps his fingers around Kagami’s.

“Yes, then let me lead you out of the blizzard,” Kuroko says softly, turning and tugging Kagami’s hand as they walk further into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday kuroko!!! aaaaaa  
> i've been working really hard so i can get this chapter out today! i'm so excited i managed to finish on time ;w;
> 
> as always, i really appreciate your comments!!  
> (also, i'm now part of a [knb discord server](https://discord.gg/YpHEhHa) where we talk about everything knb! please join us aaa)


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